


Finding the Horizon

by ThatAj



Series: Exposure: One Step at a Time [15]
Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Nightmares, Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, POV Brian Kinney (Queer as Folk), POV First Person, References to Depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-27 17:00:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17165813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatAj/pseuds/ThatAj
Summary: I took a deep breathe and let it out slowly. “Sunshine...I think...look this is nuts.” Like I said, I’m not winning any boyfriend of the year awards. “I don’t want to tell you what to do, but...will you call one of the therapists from the list?” And I’m not proud of myself here but desperate times and all that. “Please? For me?”Justin finds and meets with a new therapist in LA.





	Finding the Horizon

**Author's Note:**

> If you celebrate, I hope your Christmas is/was (IDK what time zone you're in) a happy one. For those for whom this is an especially tough time of year - I see you. May the coming year be better for us all.

“ _Overturned tractor trailer blocking the left three lanes westbound on the 10 at Robertson. Expect delays starting at La Cienaga. Cahuenga pass is packed northbound on the 101, it’s taking about 30 minutes to the 170. I’m Kajon Cermak, it’s 5 PM and this is KCRW_.”

We had been living in LA for about a month and I was trying to keep my work schedule as closely aligned with east coast times as possible just to avoid the very worst of the traffic. Pulling into the carport, I noticed that there were the same number of moving boxes in the recycling as the day before, none. I sighed lightly, grabbed my briefcase, and headed into the house. “Justin!” I called when I walked in and kicked off my shoes, although I’m not sure why I bothered shouting since I knew I would find him where I had found him pretty much every day I came home from work. Nearly every morning started with Justin swearing up and down he would tackle the rest of the unpacking and then apologizing when I came home and found him up on the rooftop deck, sleeping in the sun like a cat. He apologized although honestly it saved me from just having to reorganize anything he unpacked since his artistic mind didn’t appear to allow for logical decision-making, like putting the coffee mugs in the cabinet right above the coffee machine. If all he wanted to do in these summer months before his semester started was lay in the sun and relax it was fine by me, but that wasn’t what he wanted to do, it’s just what he did and then felt badly about it. I walked into our bedroom and changed from my suit into jeans and a t-shirt. I noticed that the door to the roof was open and shouted again, “Justin!”

“Up here!” he returned. I headed downstairs to the kitchen to grab a few beers before going up to the deck. We had discussed getting a grill to put up there with the deck furniture, which had been one of our first purchases when we moved. We would have to get a drinks refrigerator as well. I opened the beers with a bottle opener that had taken up permanent residence on the deck and handed one to Justin. He moved over on the lounge chair so I could sit next to him. We touched the top of our bottles together before each taking a long swallow. Justin held up the bottle and examined the label.

“Oof, that’s strong!” We were both getting used to the hoppy goodness that are the local and the super local California IPAs which we found in the cold cases of everything from upscale liquor stores to the convenience stores at gas stations, alongside lighter Mexican lagers. “Oh is this from that brewery over on the east side?”

“Eagle Rock. Yeah, it is. Although I think I liked the one we had last night better. From San Diego.”

“Mmm. Yeah the sculpin...Did your desk chair finally arrive?” Justin had been a patient audience to my complaints about the delay of my office chair and very generously offering to help my ass recover each evening after sitting all day in sub-optimal seating.

“Yeah, finally.”

“Aw is the Princess and the Pea feeling better then?” he teased.

“Very funny. My back might finally recover.”

“You know what back problems are a sign of?”

“If you say aging, I’m putting you on the next plane back to Pittsburgh. I’m sure Debbie and Carl are feeling like the house is far too empty now that Emmett’s moved out, they would love to have you.”

“...”

“What _are_ back problems a sign of, Sunshine?”

“Um, I forget.”

“Memory problems, at your age? I’m going to have to trade you in for a newer model.”

“Haha, shut up!” He punched me lightly in the stomach. We sat silently for a few minutes just enjoying the warmth of the evening sun and the cold beers. I weighed my options and finally asked, “So how was your day, dear?”

Justin sighed and rolled his eyes. “I was going to unpack...I know I know I keep saying I will and then I don’t.”

I shrugged. Justin was leaning with his back against my chest so he couldn’t see me but he could feel the movement. “You don’t have to unpack by yourself. It’s both our stuff.” We had spent our weekends unpacking and shopping for new furniture and doing it together was just fine by me. Like I said, the boy really couldn’t be trusted to do it on his own anyway. We’d be sitting on beanbag chairs and getting our plates from the linen closet, if left entirely to his own devices.

“It feels like the least I can do. Besides, it’s not like I’m spending my time productively anyway.”

“It’s not like I expect you to get a summer job.”

“Really? I can quit my paper route?” I pinched his side in retaliation and he yelped.  “We need to get some meat back on these bones. It’s more like fucking a teenager than when I was actually fucking a teenager.”

“Food out here is too goddamn healthy, I need some greasy diner trash,” Justin lied. We had avocados over-ripening in our yard that would have been a vehicle for chips and margaritas, if Justin had any appetite.

I noticed the light changing, a pinkish hue cast over everything. I bit back the questions I wanted to ask. Justin sighed deeply and dropped his head back against my shoulder.

“Hmmm?”

“I - I hate this.”

“Can you be more specific? Hate what exactly?”

“This...feeling this way. I feel trapped by, I don’t even know, my thoughts? These feelings?”

“I imagine you’re sick of it.”

“You’re sick of me being like this?” His voice got much higher at the end of the question.

“No..no, that’s not what I said.” It was like everything I said got filtered through Justin’s depression and anxiety and came out translated into his worst fears. And I guess we all do that to some extent but it was never more obvious than when speaking to him at the worst of his depression.

“I know, I know. I’m just so sick of myself that I can’t imagine how you’re not sick of me. You joke about sending me back to Pittsburgh but there’s probably some secret wish underneath it.”

“I thought I was paying tuition at art school, when did you take psych 101, Dr. Freud?” Justin laughed hollowly. “I am pretty sick of this caricature of me as Big Bad Brian waiting for the smallest excuse to ditch poor little Sunshine. Isn’t that so six years ago?” I don’t even wear clothes that outdated.

Justin’s head dropped. “You’re right. God, I’m sorry Brian.”

“Hey, I don’t need a whole apology. Just don’t do it anymore. You’re the only person I know in LA, so you’re stuck with me, okay?”

“Okay...You’re sure you’re not upset?”

“Sunshine…”

“Okay, okay. Sorry, I just wanted to hear it.”

“I’m not upset, alright?”

“Yeah. Okay.”

“Have you...have you given any more thought to calling one of the therapists from the list from urgent care?”

“I don’t think therapy was helping.”

“Didn’t some of those therapists do the type of therapy that Daphne recommended?”

“I guess. But how different can they be?”

“Different enough. I mean you refuse to drink anything but beer when Thom’s bartending at Woody’s. If it matters who’s mixing your drinks, then shouldn’t it matter who your therapist is?”

“Maybe...true.”

“Look, don’t do anything you don’t want to do. Just maybe it’s worth looking into a bit.”

“Yeah...okay.”

We sat a while longer. We didn’t have a view of the sunset but it was still relaxing to watch the light change around us, while the moon rose. When the sun finally set, we got up to bring our empty bottles inside. I went into the bedroom to change while Justin sat on the bed watching me. I complained about him being too thin - and he was - but god he was still gorgeous. “Going out?”

“Yeah. Want to come?”

“Not tonight. Worn out from my day of laying about.” His attempt at humor belied the frustration he was feeling at himself.

“Want to order food before I go?” Our kitchen was hardly unpacked and I sure as fuck wasn’t going to cook in the summer heat, air-conditioning notwithstanding.

“All that lying about didn’t work up much of an appetite.”

“Justin, please don’t make me turn into Debbie and nag you about eating. I don’t have the chest to pull off rude slogan t-shirts.” Or the willful cruelty of making others’ eyes bleed.

“Oh I think you can do anything you set your mind to. You want me to ask her to send you her ‘If God Thinks Gay Sex is a Sin, Why Did He Give Men Prostates’ shirt?” He acted like he was joking but West Hollywood unfortunately boasted at least one store that sold the Debbie Novotny t-shirt line and Justin had definitely planned every birthday and Christmas gift for her for the next decade.

I laughed and asked, “So sushi? I thought we could order from that place on Fountain.”

He sighed, “Sure. I’ll get miso soup and seaweed salad.”

Not nearly enough, but, really, who am I to lecture someone about not eating enough? “Want to split a spicy tuna roll?” Well, I had to at least give it a shot. He shrugged and I took that for a yes and placed our order. We drank more beers while we waited and watched the latest about our asshole president on CNN.

“You sure you don’t want to go out? I think I’m just going to head up to Gold Coast.” That was a divey bar a couple of blocks away that was great for a game of pool and other indoor sports.

“Yeah, I’m sure. Have fun though.” He paused and shifted around. “Can you lock up on your way out? I - I don’t want to forget to do it myself.”

“Yeah sure.” Since moving, Justin had become concerned about safety even though West Hollywood was probably safer than Pittsburgh had been. His need for reassurance that everything was locked and secured went beyond what his worry had been even right after the loft was broken into. It was such a little thing that I was happy to just have something I could do to help.  

When I got back from the bar, later that night, I showered and was entering the bedroom and I saw Justin sit up and look around, a bit disoriented. His eyes found me and he seemed to fully wake up. “Did you have a good time?”

“Yeah. That guy - the redhead? He was there.”

“How was he?”

“Pretty bad at pool but with a mouth like that, he doesn’t need to be good at pool or anything else.”

“So a fun time?”

“Not bad.”

“Did you lock the door?”

“Yeah.”

“Can - can you just double check? ...Please, Brian?”

“No problem - I was going to grab a bottle of water anyway. Do you want one?”

“No, I’m okay. But thanks.”

I ran downstairs and checked the door. Locked. Grabbed a water and headed back upstairs. Our downstairs was mostly glass and one of these days we were going to get a thank you note from our elderly Russian neighbors about all the nudity on display. Justin was sitting up against the headboard when I got back in. I downed about half the water put the bottle on the bedside table and crawled up and over him. I kissed him and played with his hair, and asked about his night. He shifted around a bit to get more comfortable and so I could lie between his legs and our kisses turned more serious. His legs snaked around me and I reached for the condoms and lube. As I pushed into him, I noticed the line of worry that has taken up permanent residence between his eyebrows disappear and I wondered how long it had been there without my noticing. Afterwards, I cleaned us up and he drifted off to sleep before me and the line never returned. I closed my eyes and let sleep take me.

Some hours later I woke up to the crying and thrashing that accompanies one of Justin’s nightmares. For me there’s always a moment of panic from being woken from a dead sleep in such a jarring way. But it’s only a moment because it’s been years and you can really adjust to pretty much anything. Justin’s nightmares were back to almost the frequency they had been at just after he was returned to me after the bashing. Since he had become depressed they had less to do with the bashing and more to do with hurting himself or me. So at least the lad had some variety. I turned on the bedside light on low.

“Justin, Justin,” I whispered. “You’re okay. It’s okay. Wake up.” It’s hard to not touch him because lord knows I’m better with anything physical than words, but when he’s having a nightmare, touching him just makes it worse. It doesn’t take many times to learn that one the hard way. He eventually woke up with a start, sat up, and pulled his knees up. I got up and filled a glass from the bathroom tap and handed it to him with an Ativan. He drank it and handed it back to me and rested his forehead on his arms, crossed on his knees. He panted, trying to regulate his breathing.

“Are you okay?” I asked knowing that okay was relative right then.

He looked up at me, that line of worry was definitely back, and nodded. I sat facing Justin and the headboard and he leaned forward into me. My arms wrapped around him and I pulled him into me, cupping my hand on the back of his head. It reminded me of comforting Gus except that I had been comforting Justin long before I was a regular part of Gus’s life. Justin pulled back and looked at me, bit his bottom lip and said, “I’m going to go sleep in the guest room.”

“What? Why?” The guest room? I was utterly confused.

“I - I feel safer,” he whispered.

“What...wait, what? Did I do something?” My heart was racing.

“No...no. You didn’t do anything.” He started biting his thumbnail.

“Then what the fuck, Sunshine?”

His voice was so soft it was hard to hear, “What if I - I do something. Like while I’m sleeping? Like sleep walking, except I hurt you?” His voice gradually grew louder. “Because if that happens, if I do that...I couldn’t, I just couldn’t…” his voice broke and I pulled him into me again.

“Hey. Hey. That’s not going - look that’s just not going to happen.”

“How do you know?” His voice was muffled as he spoke into my shoulder and thick with tears.

“Is that what the nightmare was about?” He nodded. “It was just a dream. That’s not going to happen. First of all, you don’t sleep walk, so there’s that. Second of all, I’ve never heard of such a thing. That would make headlines right? ‘Sleeping man kills family’ - never heard of it.”

“Are you sure?”

I didn’t want to lie to the kid, I mean when are we ever one hundred percent sure of anything? But c’mon, he wasn’t going to hurt me in his sleep. And the idea of him going off to sleep alone in the guest room because he was afraid of that? Look, I’m not going to be a finalist for boyfriend of the year anytime soon, or ever, but even I knew I couldn’t let him do that. “Yeah, I’m sure. Let’s just lay down for a minute and don’t even worry about sleeping, okay?”

He lay down on his back and I slung my leg across his legs and my arm across his chest. “See? No way you can do anything without waking me. Nothing’s going to happen.”

He huffed out a laugh.

“What?” He was silent. “Wait, what? What am I missing?”

“Brian… you sleep pretty soundly,” he said.

“Huh?” My voice was hoarse.

“You’re not going to wake up even if I get up” he shared as though he was admitting something. And I blame the late hour and maybe the beers still in my system because it took me a full minute to understand.

“Do you...have you slept in the guest room before? I just didn’t realize it?”

Justin nodded, “Pretty much since we’ve moved in.”

“How did...how did I not know?”

“Like I said, you sleep soundly and I just set my alarm to go off before you wake up.”

“You’ve been sleeping in the guest room?” He nodded. “And I didn’t realize it?”

“Brian…” I lifted my head and looked down at him. He blinked a few times. “I made sure you didn’t realize. I - I didn’t want you to know.”

“Why?” I whispered.

“Because...it’s fucking embarrassing is why! It’s like being a little kid and wanting to sleep with mommy and daddy because you’re scared of the monster under the bed. Except it’s like the monster is me and I can’t sleep unless I’m locked in the guest room and even then…” All the days spent sleeping in the sun suddenly made sense.

I took a deep breathe and let it out slowly. “Sunshine...I think...look this is nuts.” Like I said, I’m not winning any boyfriend of the year awards. “I don’t want to tell you what to do, but...will you call one of the therapists from the list?” And I’m not proud of myself here but desperate times and all that. “Please? For me?”

Justin laughed, “As I say it aloud...yeah yeah okay, I hear it now. I’ll call, okay?”

I lowered my head next to his and buried my face in his neck and nodded. “Yeah, okay.” I lay holding him until his breathing evened out and he was asleep again. And then I propped my head up and just watched him and tried to makes sense of all that I knew and tried to understand of what he was going through and tried to wrap my head around this realization that there was probably lots he wasn’t telling me, couldn’t tell me, and how at once he looked both so delicate and precious and so strong and courageous. I could spend the rest of my life trying to understand how someone like Justin Taylor is even of this world and how by some absolute mistake in this universe, he’s chosen me. I would never fully understand and I was so fucking happy about that.

Justin called around and found a cognitive behavioral therapist who sounded fine on the phone and made an initial appointment. The day of his appointment I had a late meeting so by the time I got home, the sun was down. There were no lights on in the house or even up on the roof. I wondered if he was home yet or if he had been home and gone back out for something. I grabbed water from the fridge and went up to the bedroom to change, like I usually do and then I saw Justin. Justin was curled up on the bed, small in a way that reminded me of him sleeping in the loft after Gus’s first birthday party and, just like then, his nose was red and there were dried tears down his cheeks. I sat down next to him and rubbed my hand in slow circles on his back. He lifted his head and blinked a few times, getting his bearings. “Hey,” he said softly.

“Hey there. You okay?” I spoke softly too. He shrugged and looked away at a spot over my shoulder.

“How was - how was your therapy appointment?” Justin crying fucking tears me apart but I also knew that therapy is supposed to, I don’t know, stir shit up.

Justin shook his head. “No one ever asked. The fucking psychiatrists at the hospital, Peter, even fucking Tori. No one… no one ever asked.”

“Asked what?” I swallowed around a lump in my throat because whatever it was, I obviously hadn’t asked either. And yeah sure I don’t have my MD or PhD or PsyD or whatever the fuck, and so probably whatever this question was that hadn’t been asked I couldn’t’ve been expected to know but, hi, I’m Brian Kinney, have we met?

“No one ever asked...asked me how I felt about...the thoughts.” Justin’s voice broke and tears filled his eyes.

“How you felt about the thoughts - the suicidal thoughts? The violent thoughts?” As the words came out of my mouth I realized what a fucking basic question that was. I mean, isn’t the whole cliche of therapy that very question: and how do you _feel_ about that?

“Yeah…”

“Um, how _do_ you feel about those thoughts?”

“Fucking horrible. They terrify me. I’m scared literally all the time that I’m going to kill myself or you or do something terrible. I feel like I spend every waking moment trying to get rid of these thoughts.” I wiped my hand over my mouth. The words “every waking moment” bounced around in my mind before I pulled myself to attention.

“And, uh, did this new therapist. Uh, Regina? Asked you that?”

“Yeah, yeah she did.”

“So...that’s good, right?” I had no idea where this was going.

“Yeah, it is. Kinda, I guess.”

“Kinda, you guess?”

“Uh, yeah. She says...she called them ‘intrusive thoughts’ and she said she doesn’t believe I’ve ever actually been suicidal or, um, a risk to others.”

“Okay...that sounds like good news, Sunshine.”

“...she says it means I have OCD.” He dropped his head back down on the pillow and I laid down next to him.

I had a million questions running through my mind and I knew the better part of tomorrow would be spent doing research online rather than on work, but all that came out was “What’s it like?”

“It’s like… I’ve lost sight of the horizon.”

“Huh?”

“Novice pilots. It’s dangerous for them to fly when it’s cloudy at night. Your instruments tell you which way is up and you have to trust them. The truth is right there in front of you but you have to see it. Otherwise, you can lose sight of the horizon and nosedive and by the time you realize what’s happening, it can be too late.”

He paused and we just breathed together.

“It’s like the truth is right in front of me but I can’t trust it. My mind can’t trust it. And...there’s a part of me that realizes - realizes that if I go with what _feels_ true, rather than the actual truth that is right there in front of me, by the time I recognize it, by the time I try to correct course, it will be too late. And...I’m never sure if what I feel to be true is the truth or what is in front of me is the truth. I can’t - I can’t trust my eyes or my mind.”

He curled around me and pulled me into his chest and I just relaxed into it because what the fuck else could I do?


End file.
